


Dentist!

by KeyDog (BannedBloodOranges)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Butch Lesbian Bones, Crack, Dentistry, F/F, Fluff, Genderswap, Humour, Lady Dentist Spock, McCoy hates the Dentist, i can relate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 18:36:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20746862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/KeyDog
Summary: Lenore McCoy begrudgingly goes for her annual check-up. A Vulcan Dentist, huh? Sounds like a horror story.





	Dentist!

**Author's Note:**

> I had a terrible time at the Dentist. In my painful stupor, I cranked out this pure silliness. (I bet Dentist!Spock would be better than mine T.T)
> 
> Non-profit fun only.

A Vulcan dentist; sounds like a horror show.

"If you would like to seat yourself, Mrs McCoy," She turns in her chair, snapping her blue gloves against her pencil wrists. Her hands are abnormally large on the thin brambles she calls arms. She is tall and long and lithe, pale legs visible beneath her skirt. That is nothing compared to her face. Long heavy nose, plump upper lip, dark eyes beneath brows arched to the ceiling, black hair swirled up into a beehive gloss, all the better to show off the points on her Vulcan ears.

No beauty, and not exactly a sex kitten. Maybe that's good, Lenore thinks. Less time to get distracted. 

"I hate these check-ups," She gripes, squeezing herself onto the chair. 

"Is your oral health adequate?"

"You tell me."

"Naturally." She retrieves her instruments; all different tools of remorseless metal. "I believe that is what I have been trained for. Now, open please."

Cold, dispassionate. No _how are you _or _how are the kids _or my, _you look mega attractive in that Starfleet regulated gown. _

Begrudgingly, she obeys. She as sure as hell hopes she has nothing up her nose. That lugubrious face appears, armed with hygiene mask. 

"Where's your little light?" Bones grouches, to stop the tremble in her hands.

"Please explain further."

"Your little..." She gestures to her forehead. Spock raises an eyebrow. "...light. You know, to see inside my mouth. I want no guesswork, you hear?"

"I do not require the little light, as you term it," She says, framing Bones's mouth with her arachnid fingers. "My Vulcanian sight is superior to the limitations of the human eye. Now, open wide."

She could have used the word _different _or even rephrased it with the kind of emotional claptrap her mother insisted on; _ "we're all special in our way" _ and _ "we all have different strengths" _ and - 

The Periodontal scaler scrapes against her back molar.

She jolts violently. The instrument retreats, along with a risen brow from Miss Superior.

"You have sensitivity?"

Bones clamps her mouth shut.

"N-No."

"That is a falsehood. You recoil as it touches the centre of the tooth. You are in discomfort."

Bones glares.

Spock waits, oh so patient.

"Fine," she bites. "Yes, it hurts a little. But it's nothing I cannot handle."

"There's a fine crack in the tooth," Spock explains slowly. "It has opened a deep cavity, one that will only increase in severity until it is dealt with. The logical course of action would be to fill it, as opposed to the human response to "leave it." It will no doubt worsen, creating greater pain and distress in future procedures."

Bones swallows.

"So..." 

"You are nervous."

"I am..." She glowers into those damn prett - _ penetrating _eyes and scowls. "...yes. I hate the dentist." She sniffs. "No offence."

"I am not capable of experiencing that emotion," is the dry reply, but it could be her imagination, but the face has softened ever so slightly. "You are a Doctor, correct?"

"Finest in the fleet," she smirks, unable to stop herself bragging (or the husk of a quick flirt. Goddamit Lenore, keep it in your pants. You're turning into Jimmy -)

"Then you are more qualified than others to understand the necessity of uncomfortable procedure to prevent further and more serious injuries." She's already prepping the injection, flicking the end of the needle. Bones bites back a piteous moan."Am I not correct, Doctor?"

"Yeah." Sauveness forgotten, she shrinks back in the seat. "Will this cost...how many credits...?"

"It is all covered in your insurance," She coaxes Bones's mouth open. The rubber brushes against her teeth, the synthetic friction making her gag. "As a crucial part of your overall health. These check-ups are mandatory."

Bones makes a shaky noise in response.

"Calm yourself, Doctor." She looms closer. Blue shadow shimmers on her brows. Bones fixates on it, trying to imagine how it would look smeared sparkling on her pillowcase. "This will feel like a small, shallow scratch. The numbness shall ease away any other discomfort."

The needle, willingly gentle, plants in the soft tissues of her gums. 

Bones closes her eyes.

Eye shadow, pillowcase, long fingers all pale like birch twigs, the sort you find along the riverbank in early spring on the family farm -

Numbness swells like a sweet prayer and she exhales, floats.

* * *

"You will require a follow-up appointment to check your progress," Spock signs her discharge form. Bones, numb cheeked and a little light-headed, nods affirmingly. Her hand cradles her face, and what is left of her dignity. Nothing quite so sexy like lookin' like a pissed off earth pufferfish. "As of now, no hot foods. Due to your numbness, you may not be able to accurately gauge heat and this may cause injury or burning without your notice. Drink water at room temperature. You should be safe to consume solid foods within four hours."

"Okay," Muffled, Bones nods. It hadn't been great, but it had been bearable. Dr Spock had been reasonably gentle, and she didn't feel like her heart was gonna bang out of her chest at the sight of another white chair. "H-How's next Monday, Darlin'?"

She didn't mean the endearment (okay, she did) but she had a good excuse. Roofied off her head, and maybe the sage tinted lady satyr wasn't as plain as she'd thought.

"Mrs McCoy," She raises an eyebrow; obviously a habit. "Monday would be acceptable. Would 900 hours suffice?"

"Yep," Bones slides the appointment out of her hand. "See ya then, Darlin'."

She tries to smile (and fails, because _ ow. _)

Spock turns slowly in her chair, with a gaze both bemused and withering. Bones exits, shambling out into the corridor.

To nobody's surprise, Jim is sat bright and beamin' at the front of the queue.

"What are you doing here?"

"Bones!" Jimmy looks so innocent, especially in that Starfleet skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. Hah, right. "I'm here for my check-up."

"Checkup?" She slurs through the drugs. "Give me a break, Jimbo. Didn't you have a dental appointment only two days ago?"

"Well, I..." She flashes one of her Warp 10 smiles. The Russain boy behind the desk goes beetroot. "...had a repeat appointment."

"Yeah, I bet."

"Jimena Tabitha Kirk?" A buttery contralto warms the corridor. Draped against the door is Mrs Spock. Her eyeshadow glitters as if just reapplied. "I believe you are next."

"Why, Mrs Spock," Jim flowers at the sight, twisting a golden curl around her finger. Bones scoffs, taps her foot. "I cannot think of a finer way to spend the next forty-five minutes."

"How about in a morgue?" Bones scoffs. She glances between the two women. "There's little difference in that damn office."

"Now, now, Doctor," Mrs Spock cajoles, smoothly. Bones blinks. "If I recall correctly, and my recollection is valued as 100%, you complimented me on my gentleness."

"I was..." Her cheeks burn, and it's not the inflammation. "...under the influence."

"Were you, Bones?" needles Jim, hands planted on her ample hips. The girl has a figure that could make a man's eyes pop out. "Well, maybe you should sit out here a while, and wait for me. Allow yourself time for judgement when you are not _ under the influence_, hm?"

"Mrs Kirk," Spock interjects. "I must insist we proceed. I do have other appointments."

"Regrettably," Bones mutters under her breath, reaching for a PaDD full of puerile magazines. 

"Of course," Jim is shining at Spock, following her into the surgery. She shoots a wink over her shoulder. "See you in a bit, Bones."

"Enjoy having your mouth butchered," Bones scans the PaDD. Oh look, an article about Romulan hairdressing. Fascinating. 

"I can assure you that no such incident will occur," Spock stands aside to let Jim pass. "I will act only in a manner of the utmost professionalism and will act to lessen any discomfort. As your acquaintance has surmised..." Bones glances up at the mention. Spock's lashes flicker for a moment. "...I am quite gentle. I shall see you in exactly forty-four point seven minutes..." She muses, wets her lower lip. "...Darlin'."

The door shuts, accompanied by a soft gasp from Jim. Bones, a little giddy, swallows and cradles her cheek.

The little Russain boy releases a short, sharp squeak.

Bones swears a little.

She's hot on both sides of her cheeks, now.


End file.
